


The Next Step

by Hoodoo



Category: School of Rock (2003), School of Rock - Lloyd Webber/Slater/Fellowes
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feelings Realization, Masturbation, Sex, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, Waffles, safe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23983408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodoo/pseuds/Hoodoo
Summary: You've had growing feelings for Dewey, so when you spy on him in the throes of a private intimate moment, you're bold enough to find out if he thinks the same about you.
Relationships: Dewey Finn & Reader, Dewey Finn/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 58





	The Next Step

“It’s too late to walk home. It’s raining! Just stay here.”

“It’s only three in the morning! I’ll be fine!”

“Dewey, seriously. Just stay here. I’ll fix up the couch. And make you pancakes for breakfast.”

“Waffles?” he asked in reply, batting his eye lashes at you.

You laughed and slapped him on the chest. “If it means you’re not walking home in the middle of the night in the rain, then yes! I’ll sweeten the deal and make you waffles!”

He grinned and agreed. 

Although it wasn’t the most comfortable piece of furniture ever made, you set him up on your couch, as promised. With sheets and a real bed pillow even, and not just a blanket and whatever lumpy throw pillow was available. Wishing him a good rest of the night, you went to your tiny windowless closet of a bedroom. You heard Dewey shuffling around for a bit as you stripped down to just your panties and climbed into bed, but soon your apartment was quiet and still, with only the sound of rain outside. 

That’d always been a soothing sound to you. Usually it sent you right to sleep, but tonight, after being in the bar your brain was too amped to let you drift away. You sighed, tried a different position, sighed again, flipped your pillow--the other one that you were used to having was out on the couch--sighed again, and tried to will yourself to be still. Maybe just pretending to be asleep would trick you into going to sleep. 

Closing your eyes and trying to concentrate on the sound of the rain, your ears picked up on another sound. A faint gasp? A muttering? You were familiar with every sound this old apartment made, and those were not usual. 

Creeping out of bed, you quietly opened the door to investigate what fresh hell this place had in store for you. You really needed to find a new place--

You glanced around and took a step into the open living space, trying to be quiet and not wake Dewey, when a sharp gasp, quickly muzzled, caught your attention. Your eyes had adjusted to the dark, and ambient light from outside even with the rain, helped. What you saw in washed out grey tones, however, was not what you were expecting. 

Dewey, your friend, someone you hung out with and had a great time with, someone you’d kinda-sorta developed a crush on even if he was too oblivious to realize it, had his face buried sideways in the pillow you’d loaned him. He’d kicked the blanket and sheets you’d provided off and had shoved his underwear down to his knees. His hand was on his cock, stroking it leisurely. You watched as his hand increased its speed and he pulled his face out of your pillow to gasp and breathe. He moaned a word--

_\--your name--_

\--before shoving his face back into the pillow to muffle himself. His hand also slowed, but you saw his hips push upward into himself. 

Your face was on fire, seeing such an intimate moment. That fire was in your belly too, though; you wouldn’t deny there had been times your hand was at the junction between your legs with his name on your lips too. You should be embarrassed. You should give him his privacy. You should step back into your bedroom.

You didn’t.

It suddenly dawned on you that you were standing in the dark, watching Dewey stroke himself and hearing your name come out of his mouth, voyeuristically, in just your panties. Was is right? No. Was it hot? Yes. 

While you debated yourself whether to return to your bed or be bold and finally admit to him you thought about him in a much more intimate way than simply being friends, Dewey opened his eyes.

It was hard to read expressions in the dark, but the horrified gasping he gave catching sight of you gave you a pretty good idea he was mortified. That, and his scramble to pull up his pants and cover himself with the blanket that managed to do neither told you more than enough. 

Still, the fact that he’d been jerking off and obviously thinking about you gave you a rush of confidence you wouldn’t have imagined possible. 

Almost without thinking, you picked your way barefoot close to the couch. The floor creaked a little under your feet and before you knew it, you were standing beside him. He’d continued to try and readjust his briefs, continued to struggle with it, and instead managed to yank the sheet back up for some semblance of decorum, here in the dark. 

“You don’t need to to that,” you told him, reaching for the hem of the sheet and tossing it back down his legs, putting him back on display again. “You didn’t finish. I can’t imagine you’re going to get much sleep without taking care of that.”

You nodded towards his groin. And who were you?!

_“It’ll--”_ Dewey’s voice was high pitched and cracked. He swallowed and tried again, in more his regular voice. “It’ll go away. I’m, uh, surprised it hasn’t already!”

He hadn’t removed his shirt, but you let your gaze leisurely stroll over his body. With the help of the streetlights, your eyes had adapted well enough to the dark to see that his nipples poked his shirt, and that his lower belly was exposed. He’d covered himself with his hand after the aborted attempts to use underwear or bed linens.

“It looks uncomfortable. There’s no way you’ll get to sleep like that.”

His eyes widened. It seemed clear he was wondering who you were too. Sure, you’d touched his arm and wrist and chest even tonight. Sure, you’d brushed his hair back from his face more times than you could count. Sure, you’d hugged him and kissed his cheek(s) randomly, sometimes not even when you were drunk. 

And he’d done most of the same to you. Maybe he’d never touched your chest, but there had been times he’d slipped an arm around your waist after a really good set when he was really pumped up. 

But all that aside, neither of you had ever overtly expressed feelings for each other--until you spied on him right now. 

Dewey’s eyes flicked down your body, and it suddenly came rushing back that you were standing beside him in just your panties. Your decidedly _damp_ panties, not that he was aware of that. Your feet moved you without conscious thought closer to the couch; you walked like you were going to stop near his head but continued along side it to where his legs stretched out. 

You felt his hand ghost over the cotton panties covering your ass as you walked past him. 

Turning so you looked up his body from knees to face, you raised an eyebrow. His expression, with wide eyes and a loosened jaw, had a bit of hopefulness in it, and his chest rose and fell in a quick but noiseless pant. 

“Do you want help with that, Dewey, or would you like to finish yourself off? I could leave, or I was thinking maybe I could sit right here?” Over the tops of his thighs, you mimicked the light touch he’d given your ass. 

For a moment he seemed overwhelmed with the questions. He licked his lips, then repeated it, then swallowed. You used your nails on his legs, and he jumped liked he’d been stung. That also seemed to spur him, because he licked his lips a third time and croaked out, 

“I’d, uh--I mean, you can stay, it’d be cool if you stayed and _Iwouldn’tmindifyousatthere.”_

The end of the sentence smeared together and now his eyes squeezed shut, as if he couldn’t believe he’d just asked you to sit on his bare thighs, even though it’d been your bold suggestion. Your answer wasn’t verbal; you simply agreed by balancing on one foot and lifting the other leg to straddle his upper thighs. Your bent knee pushed in between his leg and the cushion on the back of the couch, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. His skin was warm between your own legs. 

Dewey groaned softly as you settled into place. 

“This okay?”

He nodded, his eyes still closed. 

“So you want to show me how you get yourself off, or would you like me to do it?”

In response, the hand he’d been using to shield himself wrapped around his shaft again. You caught your breath as you had a front row view to him giving himself a stroke. Here in the cool grey tones of the dim room your eyes were riveted to his groin. Of course his hand was well practiced and moved along his cock from base to tip; you didn’t miss the squeeze he gave himself when his fist returned to its starting point before repeating the motion. 

A bead of pre-come glistened at the slit of his head, but he didn’t swipe a thumb over it to remove it. His light moans filled your ears over the sound of the rain patting the windows.

Even mostly undressed, it suddenly became too hot in here. Dewey under you, stroking himself off, was arousing, and your hands went to your tits to cup them and play with your own nipples. Tiny thrills of pleasure from that made you shiver, and you moaned a little too. You had an urge to run your hands over him to his chest, to pinch his nipples too, and one hand actually dropped to his hip. Dewey’s hand paused at that touch, although he didn’t stop completely. 

When you were able to pull your attention from the action at his groin to look up his body at him, you saw that he was watching you with half-lidded eyes and his lower lip caught tightly between his teeth. 

“Can I?” you asked. Your voice sounded a little raspy, and you realized it was because you’d been breathing through your mouth and your throat was dry. 

Dewey nodded, even though you didn’t articulate exactly what you were asking permission for. Still, agreement was agreement. 

Your hand slid from his hip to his belly, skirting his cock but following the thicker trail of hair from his pubic bone to his navel. Rucking his tshirt up as you continued, you left it bunched up by his shoulders as you exposed his chest. Then, just as you’d wanted to do, your thumb and first finger found his nipple, and rolled it lightly. 

He jerked. That was an okay response, but not exactly what you were hoping for. Since most of this had happened without you thinking everything through rationally, you continued the trend as you leaned over him to put that same nipple in your mouth. 

If you rolling his nipple was a minor jolt, your lips and teeth on the same spot was a live wire. Dewey arched his back and gave his first actual cry. You grinned around the bit of his flesh you had in between your teeth, and flicked it with your tongue to hear him do it again. His free hand came up to the side of your head and he grabbed it to keep you in place. You obliged, applying a bit of suction this time, and his fingers tightened in your hair as he arched his back again. 

The move actually bucked you off balance and your fingers spread on his chest to steady yourself. Because you were stretched over him a bit, with his hand and cock trapped under you, you pushed yourself back, dragging your nails down him as you did. He groaned a little, and you couldn’t tell if it was because you’d left off his nipple or because he liked the light scratching through the hair on his chest and belly. 

As you righted yourself, you felt the tell-tale chill of wet just below your tits; the pre-come he’d neglected to wipe off the head of his cock left a slightly sticky smear there. 

The hand in your hair dropped to your shoulder, then your boob as you sat up. For a moment, Dewey’s hand seemed to have forgotten its task at his groin as the calloused fingers of the other cupped your right tit, and he gently tugged your nipple, like you’d done with his, although softer. You pressed into his hand a little, and caught the quick grin that replaced his slack-jawed expression at the encouragement. The roughness of his fingertips made your nipple harden and you laughed, a little. 

He flashed a bigger smile, the cute one that typically made you feel giddy when you saw it. Here in the dark, wearing only panties, sitting on his thighs, with one of his hands on his cock and the other on your tit, it made a heavier warmth settle in low in your belly. 

Each of you took a breath.

Out of the blue and without talking about it, the air between the two of you changed. A needy desperation gripped you and seemed to take hold of him too. His fingers tightened and gave your tit a pull. You gasped this time, and bent at the waist to run your tongue over the head of his cock. For the third time, Dewey cried out, and then nothing was happening fast enough. 

You stood up to rid yourself of your underwear, holding on to him so you didn’t fall over in your haste. He didn’t release your tit; in fact, he grabbed the other one and squeezed them together, like that was going to help support you. You didn’t care. He also attempted to kick his own briefs further down his legs, but with his hands occupied he was not successful. You laughed and once you were completely nude, you took them by the elastic waistband and shucked them down to his ankles. His hands slipped to your waist, trying to guide you back into position above him.

But--

You hated to bring everything to a screeching halt and you were pretty sure Dewey didn’t have anything that he could give you . . . except _pregnancy,_ the rational part of your brain shouted, and that wasn’t what you wanted at this time in your life! 

“Dewey--Dewey, wait, do you have a rubber? Wait, I’ve got one in my nightstand--”

You extracted yourself from his grip even as he protested and tried to keep hold of you; you scrambled back to your bedroom. He called after you, 

“Why do you keep condoms in your nightstand? How many guys are you bringing home?” 

You heard the tease in his questions; he was a close enough friend that he knew you weren’t sleeping with anyone. In the back of your mind you actually wondered if the condoms you had were expired or not; you dismissed that thought. It’d be okay. 

In record time, you’d found the box and were back at the couch. Dewey’d taken the opportunity to rid himself of his briefs and his shirt, finally, and reached for you again even as you tore the thin cardboard of the box and extracted a condom. He guided you over his legs again while you tried to open the smaller package in the dark. Frustrated by your own fingers inability to complete this task as quickly as you wanted, you grabbed it between your teeth to open it. 

Finally you ripped it open and, with Dewey hiked up on one elbow to watch the proceedings with wide eyes not just because of the dim lighting but because of arousal too, you took his cock in hand for the first time and rolled the rubber over him. 

He groaned at your touch and his hand went to the base of his cock to hold himself steady as you kept one foot on the floor and lifted yourself over him. Your fingers slick with lube, you ran them through your pussy, then, even though you were panting from anticipation, you paused a second and looked up at him. 

“You okay with this, Dewey?” you fretted lightly. 

He pulled his eyes away from your body and what was about to happen to catch your eyes too. His mouth was still open and his lips were shiny. 

“Are you _kidding_ me?!” he blurted. “Of fucking _course_ I’m okay with this! Yes--”

The second the word that started with a ‘y’ left his mouth, it was what you needed to hear. You sank down onto him before his agreement was complete, his cock slipping deliciously into your pussy with some resistance, creating the most marvelous friction.

Dewey choked his own words off by dropping his head back with an open-mouthed whine. You held your breath as you let gravity help settle you into the cradle of his pelvis with his cock completely sheathed inside you. When your ass rested on his thighs, you stopped and panted in sharp little bursts; the feeling of him so deep in your pussy created a ripple effect of pleasure that spread throughout your body. 

After a second, you rocked experimentally, to find your range of motion. At the slight movement, Dewey’s hands grabbed your thighs and squeezed. He dropped himself flat on the couch and whined again, a keening noise that gave you a little thrill. You put your hands on his chest and leaned forward. Clumsily, you kissed his open mouth, and just as clumsily, he tried to return it. 

“Don’t most people--” he started to say.

You lifted your hips. 

_“--kiss--”_ His voice cracked on the word.

You rolled back onto him.

“--before they--”

You raised yourself up again. 

“--fuck?” he finished. 

You paused, with just the head of his cock in your pussy. 

“You want to back this up and make out first? Make out instead?” you asked breathlessly. 

He cranked his eyes open. “Hell no. Fuck me--”

His last two words came out more a questioning plea than an order, but you obeyed anyway, even as a final word escaped him, 

“--please--”

Still learning your boundaries, you mostly kept him deep inside you to reduce the chance of him slipping out. You used your core to roll your hips instead of bouncing in his lap; he didn’t seem to care. His voice hitched as he moaned and squeezed your legs in time with your movements. Of course Dewey would find the rhythm in all this. Through your own moans, that made you smile.

With him obviously enjoying this, you chased your own bliss, grinding down on him so his pubic bone put pressure on your clit. That made brighter pleasure arc through you. You slipped a hand around his waist to the small of his back to make him bridge just a little, keeping his pelvis just slightly elevated so the feeling continued. Instead of increasing your movements you kept them small, so he stayed right where you needed him to make that pleasure grow. 

A thin sweat broke out over you. You could feel it on him too.

It didn’t seem to matter to him that you weren’t engaged in porn star quality thrusts. In fact, Dewey gasped, 

“I’m gonna--oh jesus, I’m gonna come--”

With that second’s worth of warning he bucked up into you with erratic pumps of his hips, almost dislodging you, throwing his head back and crying out loudly. You squeezed him both between your thighs and with your pussy to keep tight to him, and him being so deep inside you finished you off as well.

The noise you made as you came rivaled his. Euphoria shut down your senses momentarily; all that existed was you and Dewey joined intimately, on your lumpy couch. As you drifted back to reality, you were shaking and you had to peel your hands off him. 

Dewey slipped a hand between you to hold onto the condom as you lifted yourself off him. Both of you groaned at the loss: him losing the sweet heat of your pussy and you losing his cock stretching you open. You stood up and waiting to get your bearings for a moment before shuffling to a table to grab some tissues. You passed a couple to him and shoved one between your legs.

Then you stood for a moment, watching him extract himself from the condom and wiping himself up as your caught your breath. 

When he finished, he looked up and reached for you. 

You held your hand out and he pushed the crumpled tissues and wrapped up used condom into your hand. 

“Dewey! Gross!” 

He laughed and grabbed your wrist to try and pull you back down to him. You resisted, twisted your hand in _his_ to take hold of his wrist, and tugged at him instead. 

His brow furrowed. “What’re you doing?”

“Taking you to bed,” you replied. “After all that, you think I’m gonna make you stay on this crappy couch?”

With the same flash of adorable smile, he got up and followed you to your tiny bedroom, where it was darker. You dropped the trash he’d handed you into the bin along the way. Settling onto your mattress, there was a moment of the punchy, flustered awkwardness that accompanied first time intimacy. Well, you’d been bold up to this point, so why stop now?

You snuggled close and his arm automatically went over you. You kissed him properly on the mouth. 

Dewey made a squeak of surprise, then he sighed, relaxed, and his tongue tentatively touched yours. You lapped at his but kept it soft. When you each ran out of breath, you stayed pressed against him. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled in the dark. 

“Thank you,” you replied quietly. 

You wondered what he was thinking and if he was regreting it; you could both talk about what all this meant when the sun was up. He cleared his throat. Maybe he wanted to talk about it now--

“You’re still making me waffles, right?”

Even if he couldn’t see it, you rolled your eyes. His chuckle shook you both and he found your mouth again even as you pinched him, and eventually both of you settled down enough to fall asleep together. 

_fin!_


End file.
